Motives
by Riona
Summary: Dark Jak's killings are not random. It is a cold, calculating creature there is a reason for everything. [Darkfic, character death, general creepiness.]


Well, this is the most twisted thing I've ever written. Hope you enjoy it. (Oh, and in case there's any doubt... this _is_ a one-shot.)

Warnings: yaoi-ish (Dark Jak/Jak), possible implied rape (not my original intention, admittedly, but it turned out looking like it), character death.

**Motives**

Jak had been innocent, once.

It seemed so long ago, now. Before Torn, before the experimentation, before the Gate... Jak had somehow managed to fight his way halfway across the world, defeat Gol and Maia, and still retain that innocence.

So long ago.

Many things had happened since then, so many things. But more than anything, the Dark Eco that now ran through his veins had... changed him. In more ways than he cared to admit.

He never even felt remorse when he killed any more. When he saw a member of the Guard running towards him, it was second nature to whip out the Morph Gun and dispose of him. He was always aware that he had just murdered a human being: a man with hopes, with dreams, perhaps with a family – but where he should have felt guilt, there was... nothing. Blankness.

Or perhaps not quite nothing. For now there resided within him a creature which fed off guilt and pain, which revelled in Death and the suffering of others. Perhaps it was for the better that the clean, efficient killing that would have horrified the old Jak barely impressed itself on the current Jak at all, because strong emotions strengthened It – and the last thing that Jak wanted was for Dark to become stronger.

Usually, his darker self would remain quiet, only emerging when the anger and pain became too much for Jak to handle. It was only when he was alone that It would... well, not exactly speak, but It would communicate thoughts to him. Sometimes it was difficult to tell which thoughts were Dark's and which were his own, and that was what frightened him most of all.

_Death is a release, _Dark whispered to him now, as he lay on his bed in the Underground. _You have the Peacemaker. It would be so easy... you would no longer have this doubt. You would no longer experience pain, or sadness. Death will make you a part of something greater, Jak._

Jak shook his head, closing his eyes tightly and drawing his knees up to his chest. This had happened before – Dark's whispering 'voice', encouraging him to commit suicide. He did not know what Dark would gain from his death, but he was not stupid enough to try finding out.

He had considered telling someone about Dark, but he had nobody to speak to. Torn? Torn would just think he was losing it. Daxter? No, Daxter was far too concerned for Jak already – he would go insane if he found _this _out.

...Keira?

That was it; that was the answer. He could speak to Keira. She would listen; she would not mock him. Together, perhaps, they could find a way to defeat the whispering presence in the back of his mind.

Jak stood, shouldered the Morph Gun, and walked towards the exit.

* * *

_this – this isn't right._

_your hands aren't supposed to be so – so... is it dirt? it can't be, and it can't be mud either, it's too – crimson..._

_and her hair. green hair once, and beautiful, but now it's matted, it's stained as well... the crimson again..._

_blood. _her_ blood on _your_ hands and..._

_but they aren't your hands, are they? they're not, they're too... too white, too tinged with purple – and crimson now, always the crimson – and the claws, they were never there before..._

_...they're changing, there's a change and it _hurts,_ it hurts like _hell_ and now –_

_now they _are _your – it's – it's _you.

_thebloodisonyourhandsand_you_killedherJakitwas_you.

(Why do you run, Jak? You know you can't escape what you've become.)

* * *

Before they had entered the Gate, Jak's dreams were untroubled. He used to dream of the abstract and the beautiful – used to dream of the sky, and the sea, and the wilderness outside Sandover Village.

They were simple enough. Sometimes he would wander down to the beach and skim stones with Daxter, or wander aimlessly through the trees, or simply gaze up the stars and wonder what they signified. The dreams never contained pain, or great journeys, or epic battling – they were never anything more than quiet and comforting dreams of home.

Since his arrival in Haven, though, Jak returned every night to the prison. He relived the agony of having Dark Eco pumped into his veins, heard the Baron's laughter echoing in his ears. He knew that they were dreams, but he was never able to break his bonds or escape the pain.

This night, however, was different.

* * *

He was back there, back in the prison, as he knew he would be... but something seemed strange. He was simply standing there, unbound, and there was no Baron. No Erol. There was only...

"Dark."

Dark Jak _(no, just Dark – It's not me. It's _not_ me)_ stood a few feet away, staring at him with expressionless black eyes. Jak was seized with the sudden need to attack It, to _hurt_ It, but he restrained himself. Dark had appeared in Jak's dreams before, but whenever It was injured Jak would suffer the injury as well. As if they were the same person. _(He's – It's not me.)_

"Why did you do it?" he asked cautiously, his eyes narrowing. "Do you just like to kill?"

Dark remained silent for a moment... but then It smirked and took a step closer to him. Jak was seized with a sudden, paralysing terror. _Only a dream,_ he hissed mentally, although it was already becoming difficult to convince himself of it. _It's only a dream. It can't hurt you._

"Why did I do it?" Dark repeated, the dream-world being the only place in which It was given Its own voice, a physical form that was separate from Jak. As It advanced on him the prison dissolved around them, to be replaced by the streets of Haven City. "_Look,_" It hissed, indicating one corner with a clawed hand.

Jak hesitated, unwilling to expose his back to his dark counterpart. _Just a dream, _he repeated to himself. _It can't hurt you, not here._ He turned and walked towards the corner, expecting at any moment to feel claws and teeth tearing into him... but they did not, and he turned into the alleyway unscathed.

It was raining hard in the dream-city, but Jak barely noticed. He was watching a young man who sat against the wall, his knees drawn up to his face and his eyes tightly closed. Blood and tears mingled with the rainwater on his face, his blond hair matted, his tunic soaked through.

Jak stared at himself, utterly bewildered.

"Do you see?" growled a voice from behind him, and he started. Dark smiled slowly, exposing Its fangs.

"...I don't know. All you're doing is showing me what I looked like after you killed her. What am I supposed to be seeing here?" Jak felt a vague sense of loss, still looking at his past self – then gasped as Dark slipped Its arms around him from behind. Jak struggled, but to no avail – his other self was far stronger than he.

His skin burned where Dark touched it, the pain almost unbearable. _This is how Keira felt when she died, _he thought, and closed his eyes. Still the feelings of loss and guilt were dulled in his dream-self... he knew that they would strike with full force when he awoke.

"You don't see it?" whispered Dark softly, releasing him. Jak tried to open his eyes, and found himself unable to. He could feel the heat and the energy radiating from It. It must have been standing incredibly close for him to be able to feel that... Dark placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning forwards until Its mouth was very close to Jak's ear.

"You wonder why I hurt you?" It whispered, and Jak could _hear_ the smirk in Its voice. He bit his lip as Dark dragged a claw down the side of his face, willing himself not to make a sound. "Why do I target the ones closest to you? When you are crying – when you are _broken_ – you are _beautiful._"

_beauty in the (the black, the pitiless) eye of the beholder_

Jak stood unmoving, frozen with shock. Dark ran Its hands down the sides of his body, slowly.

Even when It pressed him against the wall, kissed him violently, tore away his tunic and his shirt... still he did not resist. Still he remained helpless, paralysed.

At long last Dark pulled away, still smirking. It had the power now.

A grieving mind is so easy to break.

* * *

"You awake?"

Daxter groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Hey, Jak... what's up? Sir Raspsalot given us ano –" He rolled over and started when he found himself staring at an all-too-familiar tattooed face. "Uh, you're not Jak." As soon as he realised what he had just said, Daxter rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable sarcastic comment.

It didn't come, though, and the ottsel knew instantly that something was wrong.

"Did your friend say he was going anywhere?" asked Torn. Daxter thought that he must be imagining it, but it seemed to him that the normally emotionless or angry voice sounded almost... concerned. Worried. It was... unnerving.

"Did Jak... uh, no. Wh – I mean, has –"

"He's gone," Torn interrupted. "I thought that the Guards might have got him, but there's no sign of a struggle. Do you know where he might have ended up?"

Daxter fought, without success, to hide his unease. "No idea. You're – you're sure he came in last night?"

Torn raised an eyebrow. "...weren't you with him?"

Now that Daxter thought about it, it _did_ seem odd that Jak would have just left without him. "He said that he was going to visit Keira... said he wanted t'be alone."

"Did he say why?"

"I, uh, I didn't ask. Thought Evil Dark Guy might show up if I pestered him too much," Daxter said, carefully. Torn wouldn't be able to argue with that reasoning, no matter _how_ much he wanted to.

There was a short silence.

When Daxter looked up again, he saw Torn looking at him oddly, as if a new thought had occurred to him. "What?" he asked, a little defensive.

"Keira is the girl with the green hair, right?"

"Yes," said Daxter slowly, suddenly terrified and not knowing why.

Torn stared at him. He had never been one to soften the blow of the truth, but the rat's best friend was missing, and he couldn't help feeling just a _little_ guilty that he was about to compound the bad news.

"Didn't you hear about what happened last night?"

* * *

****

_It was quiet in the forest. Quiet, but for the chirping of the birds, and the slight rustling as a lone figure walked resolutely to the edge of the Precursor platform, far above the ground._

_Dark smiled, twistedly, and leapt out over the abyss._

_And transformed into Jak._

_Together, they fell._

* * *

They found his body a few hours later.

Emotionless, Torn crouched next to the blond boy and rested his fingers against Jak's neck in order to check his pulse. Seconds later, Daxter ran up behind him and froze, staring in horror at the unmoving body of his friend.

"Jak?" he asked uncertainly, his voice threatening to waver out of control.

Torn withdrew his hand. "He's alive."

"_What?_" Total disbelief. "He's _alive?_ How can he be alive? He fell down from way up there, didn't he?" Daxter leapt up onto Torn's shoulder and from there to the ground next to Jak, hardly daring to hope. "...He's breathing. He's breathing?"

Torn stood. "We should get him back to the Underground. If we leave him out here, the Metal Heads will find him." He turned to Daxter. "Find someone to help lift him. I'll keep watch."

Daxter almost protested, but then thought better of it and left. Torn stayed by Jak's side for a while, then began patrolling the area in search of Metal Heads.

Behind him, 'Jak' stirred... then opened pure-black eyes.

And smiled.

end****


End file.
